Anatolius, careless of the estate manager’s feelings, plucked a scroll from the table and pulled it open just far enough to glimpse its contents. “This is certainly very old, John, and extremely valuable. You see the lettering is all capitalized, like a chiseled inscription? It’s just as well we no longer write in this fashion. If we did, it would take me all day to transcribe even the most minor of the emperor’s proclamations.”
Briarus, standing anxiously at Anatolius’ elbow, relaxed at the care with which the young man handled the ancient scroll. John decided he was dealing with one of those servants who was proud to serve and looked upon his master’s possessions as a mark of his own standing. Unfortunately, in his experience such men were not very forthcoming.
“Zeno mentioned that Castor is a man after his own heart,” John said, “and that he takes frequent excursions into Constantinople for the purpose of collecting antiquities or commissioning manuscripts. Your master must be a very learned man.”
Briarus’s tight lips curved into a slight smile. “Indeed, sir, that exactly describes him. He has no time for the tedious affairs of court or the vanities of idleness. No, the master is a lover of history and learning and rarely returns from one of his forays into the city without another treasure. As you see,” he gestured expansively around the room, “although this is where he spends most of his time, our library is not full of gaudy statues and carved panels and other such frivolous items.”
John strolled around the room, inspecting Castor’s collection. He noted not only ancients such as Homer and Aristotle but also several authors less familiar to him. He opened the leather cover of a codex lying on the table and discovered it to be Athenaeus’ Deipnosophistae.
“That is a brilliant account of conversations at banquets, though I believe many would find it too complex for their taste,” Briarus observed without so much as a hint of a smile.
“You are a scholar yourself, then?” John gave him an inquiring glance.
“I am a man of modest intellect, sir, but through my master’s generosity I have had some opportunity to educate myself.”
John returned his attention to the long table that was room’s centerpiece. In addition to scrolls and codices from the library there was a neat stack of loose parchment. Castor’s own notes, apparently, although as John soon realized not anything so mundane as to be of value in his investigations. Rather, the writings consisted of reflections on the cosmos, poetic form, horticulture.
“No mention of mimes, let alone dwarves.” John set down the parchment he had been scanning. “Not that I would have expected any.”
“The subject is probably too low for one of Castor’s tastes,” remarked Anatolius.
One or two codices lay open and John noticed that Castor had made notes in these also. Looking more closely, he saw one page displayed a boldly penned “No! The very idea is to admit defeat! Let us, instead, laugh in the face of eternity!”
It was written on a copy of Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations. Looking over John’s shoulder, Anatolius noted it was safer to disagree with dead emperors than living ones.
While John silently continued his inspection of Castor’s intellectual labors, Anatolius moved to a window to gaze out into the garden. “The grounds are certainly well groomed, Briarus,” he said. “There is hardly a leaf out of place.”
“Thank you, sir. The master does like everything kept in good order, although it is not everyone’s way.”
John wondered if the man was thinking of Zeno’s untidy estate next door.
“I do however notice several unkempt bushes over by the wall.” Anatolius was smiling as he spoke but Briarus seemed not to notice as he hurried to the window and followed Anatolius’ amused glance.
“Those are caper plants,” the estate manager informed him. “This past year or so the master has become very interested in growing them. I understand that they are excellent against afflictions of the joints. Alas, the master does sometimes suffer that way.”
John expressed regret, adding that he occasionally experienced similar painful twinges.
“We have an excellent gardener. He’s a retired fisherman from the village who taught himself about pruning and bedding plants and all the rest,” Briarus continued in a burst of confidences. “Unfortunately Paul, that’s the gardener, has lately been greatly afflicted by a similar malady to the master’s and so that particular bed has become very overgrown. It seems that the plant is extremely difficult to establish and the master won’t allow anyone else to so much as touch the bushes. However, I understand that Paul is in somewhat better health and should be back at work soon-if he can be persuaded to return.”
Briarus’s loquacity on the subject of the untidy bushes reminded John that a prideful servant was as quick to respond to any perceived criticism as a mediocre poet. He asked about why the gardener might be reluctant to return to work on the estate.
The scowl Briarus had worn prior to entering the library returned. “I must admit that perhaps I was hasty of tongue and said things that were regrettable, sir, but the fact is that last time Paul was working here, we exchanged some rather hot words. I thought of bringing the matter to the attention of the master but did not. Perhaps I was lax in my duty.”
John, wondering what else had happened on the estate of which Castor had been kept blissfully unaware, encouraged the man to continue with his tale.
Looking dubious, Briarus complied. “It may have been that the pain in his joints caused Paul to speak out of character. It all began when we got into conversation while he was weeding.” An enraged note entered the man’s voice. “Nothing would do but that he felt he must express dismay over what he called all the local evil goings-on.”
“Indeed?” Anatolius said with great interest. “Did he point to anything in particular?”
“Forgive me, sir, but your uncle Zeno’s automatons were most critically mentioned in his diatribe. Then there was the matter of the fortune-telling goats, which he declared sheer superstitious folly. Now, I would have been inclined to agree with him on the matter of the goats, but then he went on in the same breath to condemn what he called the master’s blasphemous collection of old pagan philosophers, if you please.” The man’s face had reddened with outrage as his story unfolded and was now almost as dark as a radish.
“Evidently the fame of your master’s library is wider than you realize, although its contents are perhaps not entirely understood,” John replied tactfully. “And as you say, it was doubtless his pain that caused Paul to speak in such a manner.”
Having said which, he indicated he had seen enough of the library and Briarus resumed guiding them on their tour of the house. He had little else to say. His admission regarding his argument with the gardener appeared to have rendered him even more surly than before. Perhaps he regretted speaking so freely about his master’s affairs.
As they moved through one spacious room after another John, a man of simple tastes, admired their furnishings. They were stark but of the finest workmanship. There was evidence, too, of Castor’s penchant for collecting which Zeno had also mentioned, in the array of statuary gracing many of the rooms as well as the peristyle and the villa’s inner garden.
There was no room John did not look through, no alcove or corner he did not inspect, but it was soon evident that Castor’s home was compact and well-ordered compared to Zeno’s rambling and chaotic villa. It was equally obvious that it could not offer even a temporary hiding place.
“Does the estate have an underground cistern, perhaps, or any disused structures?”
Briarus sniffed his disdain. “We have no need of a cistern as city-dwellers do, sir. As to the rest, my master would never countenance a ruin on his property although doubtless many consider such things picturesque.”